Galehus
by Black.Rose.Authoress
Summary: Here we go again. The Bad Touch Trio now decide--not entirely willingly--to turn their matchmaking skills in a more northward direction. Again, this just means chaos for the rest of the world. #5 of TMAMT series.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello, everyone! This is number 5 in the "The Most Awesome Matchmaking Trio Ever" Series ;D Couples for this story will include... DenmarkxNorway as our main victims. Established (you know the drill) SpainxRomano, GermanyxItaly, USxUK, and PrussiaxCanada. And possibly also background SwedenxFinland as well. I would highly recommend reading the other stories in this series first. :) Anyway, so now that that's out of the way, let's begin...

* * *

**Galehus**

**Part 1**

Something was up.

Hungary frowned slightly as she stared across the table at where Prussia was seated beside Canada. The usually easily-overlooked country was oddly visible today—most likely due to the fact that the obnoxious albino nation hadn't stopped whispering to him since they'd sat down. Right now, the blond was a shade of red that would have put Spain's tomatoes to shame—giving her a hint of what exactly Prussia was whispering to him.

Note to self: Make sure cameras are working in all broom closets and bathrooms...

Canada and Prussia. They'd gotten together due to some ridiculous supposedly-coincidental mess at a nightclub. Where apparently England, America, Denmark, the Italies, France, Spain, and Germany had all run into each other—coincidentally. Something had then happened involving an impromptu rock concert which had somehow led to America and France getting into a fist fight and voila, Canada and Prussia were suddenly a couple.

It was odd.

Particularly when you considered the other couples that had suddenly come together over the past few months. America and England—they'd been dancing around each other for centuries and all of a sudden they were actually _together_. Germany and Italy. Spain and Romano...

Something—more like some_one_—was bringing these adorable couples together... (She had issues thinking of Prussia as adorable, but Canada more than made up for it...)

And she had a pretty good idea who it was...

~.~.~

"Mon cher, Angleterre..."

France had been prepared to start another argument between himself and England... This meeting had been incredibly dull so far; Prussia was being quiet, although he seemed to be attempting to set a new record on how red he could get Canada's cheeks to turn. America was glaring at the albino, too focused on attempting to get him to self-combust to make any inane suggestions that would set England off...

To put it in simplest terms, France was bored.

So he was about to try to set off his favourite green-eyed nation with a well-thought out jibe against his eyebrows... When he was suddenly grabbed by the collar of his shirt and tugged backwards, so hard that he almost flew out of his chair.

This at least solved the boredom issue that most of the other nations were also facing... Since they weren't used to such a quiet meeting either. It felt wrong for everyone to be so well-behaved...

So when Hungary suddenly stood up, walked over to France, and almost tugged him out of his seat, most of the nations perked up immediately. This was more like it. This was the sort of thing they were used to...

"France, will you come with me, please?"

France turned his head to stare at her, eyes widening in surprise. Thoughts immediately racing in an attempt to figure out what he'd done...

_I haven't done anything to Austria recently. Besides that whole thing with the air vents, but she couldn't possibly know about that... _

"Of course, ma cheri." He stood, flashing her a grin before walking toward the door...

_She can't still be angry about the shower incident. How was I supposed to know that they decided to switch bathrooms that day?_

Of course, it didn't help that when he passed Prussia, he was immediately graced with a spontaneous rendition of the funeral march.

Someday he was going to murder his best friend.

And he wouldn't regret it at all.

He followed the not-at-all intimidating female nation outside of the room... And immediately wished that he hadn't, when she closed the door behind them and turned on him with blazing eyes. Blazing eyes that were usually the last thing that you saw before you were introduced to frying pan-induced unconsciousness.

But he was going to face this like a man...

"Prusse did it! I told him not to, but he did it anyway. It was all his idea. And Antoine helped! I wasn't even there... I was trying to show Arthur the wonders of l'amour. I even have the scars to prove it!"

...Well, he didn't say what _type_ of man.

For a long moment, Hungary just stared at the nation standing in front of her—or cowering in front of her. And then she rolled her eyes and sighed. "I don't know what you're talking about and I'd rather not know. I wanted to ask you a question."

"Oh?" France perked up slightly at this. A question? What sort of question? A question about l'amour? Perhaps she was feeling lonely and needed someone to cheer her up... France, after all, was _very_ good at cheering up lonely people.

"Is it your fault that Germany and Italy, Spain and Romano, America and England, and Prussia and Canada got together?"

Not exactly the question about l'amour he'd been hoping for, but it was still about l'amour, albeit indirectly. "Ah, you've noticed? Oui, that was moi. And Prusse and Antoine helped a little bit." Okay, a bit more than a _little _bit, but he'd been the mastermind. Those two wouldn't know the first thing about l'amour if it weren't for him.

"I thought so. So..." And now she took a step closer and her lips suddenly twisted up into a smile that made France wish that he was out here with someone else. Anyone else. He'd take _Russia _over her right now. "Who's next?"

He blinked.

Multiple times.

"Quoi?"

"Who. Is. Next? Who are you bringing together next? I want in on it." And suddenly she tugged a notebook into sight, her eyes gleaming with evil excitement. "Who's it going to be? I have a list of couples that I think would be really cute together, if you need to look at it."

France was starting to feel slightly nervous. He hadn't actually been planning on doing anymore matchmaking. Not after what happened last time. He was _still _bruised from that.

Then again, Hungary's expression was quite plainly reading, 'If you don't do this for me, I will bash your brains out with a frying pan. Then I will stomp on them until they're flat like a pancake and then I will set them on fire'. It was a look that even Romano wouldn't have been able to pull off.

"...Who were you thinking of?" he finally gave in. Prussia wasn't going to be happy about this... But if he had a problem with it, _he_ could go tell Hungary so.

Now she beamed, her expression still terrifying, but one that left him with pity for the couple in question and not in fear for his own life, so he was fine with it. "Well, there are so many, really... I think the one I would go with, though..." And here she grabbed his arm and dragged him to the door they'd just exited, sliding it open just wide enough for the two of them to peer inside.

"Ve~ but Doitsu! I'm hungry! I need to go make pasta~"

"Yeah, potato bastard, are you trying to starve us or something?"

Germany was standing in front of everyone, looking as if he'd greatly enjoy bashing his head against the nearest solid object. Which would probably be his podium. "We just had a food break twenty-five minutes ago..."

"Ve~ but I'm hungry again, Doitsu~"

"The hero moves that we should take a break, too. I'm out of cheeseburgers..."

"You had a whole bag of them when we got back from our last break!"

"I've gotta keep my energy up, Iggy. Heroes need their energy, after all!"

And now Germany did bash his head into the nearest solid object, which _was_ his podium. Startling Prussia away from the lobster-red Canada and leading to him jumping up and standing beside him, poking his head. "Hey, Westen? Hey, Westen? You dead, Westen? Can I have your porn stash if you're dead, Westen?"

"Them!" Hungary suddenly remarked, as she pointed into the room. France following her finger...

Toward the Nordic states.

They, for the most part, seemed to be ignoring the rest of the world pretty well. Sweden and Finland were talking amongst themselves. Iceland was just staring across the room—France tried to follow his gaze, but couldn't see what was so interesting about a blank wall. And Denmark was simultaneously guffawing at everyone else and poking Norway in the side to try to get a rise out of him.

"Who? Sweden and Finland?" That wouldn't be difficult. They were pretty much married anyway.

"No, Denmark and Norway. Although if you could get some cute pictures of Sweden and Finland, that would be great too... But I mainly want you to get Denmark and Norway together."

France stared at them, tapping his finger against his perfectly-stubbled chin. Denmark and Norway. They'd be a bit more difficult...

Then again, it would be rather fun to introduce those two in-denial nations to l'amour. And he enjoyed a challenge.

"What do I get if I agree to this?" Images of appropriate payments began to flicker through his mind... Most of them involving Austria. Some involving a maid outfit... Others involving other outfits that he already had prepared in his special closet...

"How about I don't bash you in the face with my frying pan?" And said frying pan suddenly appeared in her hand.

France had no idea how she managed to make that frying pan appear out of thin air. But at the moment, he didn't care.

That was a pretty good payment too. He could live with that. "I think that we have a deal, Mademoiselle," he replied, holding out his hand to her.

She grinned, the frying pan going back...to wherever the heck it came from...as she took the hand in a grip that was a little too tight to be friendly. "I'm glad that we understand each other, Francis. Kiku and I will be greatly looking forward to assisting you however we can."

France nodded, trying not to wince at her grip. Thankful when she finally let go and he could start coaxing the blood to run back into his fingers. "Oui, hopefully this will be enjoyable for everyone..."

Prussia was definitely not going to be happy about this.

* * *

A/N: Bonjour! I have returned with the next in our TMAMT series! Just to warn you, updates on this will not be as fast as the last story, so I apologize now for that. Although they'll still be pretty fast.

For the title... Galehus = Danish for Madhouse

Oh, and if anyone has any ideas for this story, I'd greatly enjoy it. Since we're dealing with the Nordics (who haven't shown up very often) I'm not entirely positive where I want to go with this. So suggestions are always appreciated... :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Galehus**

**Part 2**

"No."

"Prusse—"

"No. No fucking way."

France sighed as he stared into the depths of his wine glass, hoping that it might give him an idea of how to get Prussia to agree to the idea. It didn't. So he took a sip from it instead before glancing over at Spain. Maybe he could get assistance from hi—

That idea died before it even had a chance to burst into life. As he realized that Spain was very happily sitting in his seat, in a pub, drawing on his napkin with a red crayon that had probably been left by a child who had been sitting here earlier.

"Look, Francis!" And he suddenly lifted the napkin and shoved it into France's face, beaming like the oblivious idiot that he was.

France's eyes took a moment to adjust to the fact that the thing was only an inch from his nose, but after a few seconds was finally able to make out that he'd drawn a tomato. With a scowling face. And a curl sticking out from the left side...

"It's Lovi!"

Note to self: Never even _think _about asking Spain for advice _ever _again.

"There is no fucking way that I am doing anything that the frying pan-wielding devil-woman asks. Besides, I told you that I didn't want to do anymore matchmaking when you came up with that crazy scheme involving England and America! I got fucking punched in the face because of that!"

"But, mon ami, I also got punched in the face while I was helping bring you and Mathieu together."

Prussia flashed France an irritated glare at that remark. "One, you got punched in the face because you kissed Artie while America was in the building. Two, I didn't need your advice. I could have gotten together with Mattie awesomely without you sticking your nose into my business."

France grinned slightly at this, resting his chin in his palm as he took another sip from his glass. "Really, Prusse? How far have you gotten with mon cher Mathieu since then?"

Prussia immediately tensed up, amusing France greatly. Ah, how simple it was to rile up his friend. Almost too easy. He did need a challenge right now and, even if Prussia refused to admit it, matchmaking their fellow nations was an incredibly entertaining hobby. And gave them something to do besides bother England or Austria or one of their other neighbours.

France grinned slightly as he stared into Prussia's face, before reaching over to take another sip of his wine and finding the glass empty. At least his favourite little human waiter just-so-happened to be passing their table. "Garçon! More wine, si vous plait?"

The man blushed immediately at the Frenchman's voice, but he hurriedly nodded and ran off toward the bar in response.

Prussia frowned at the look France sent after the waiter. "Is he why you keep dragging us into this fucking pub where you can't even get any decent beer?"

"Oui."

Spain was still off in his own little world, now drawing a larger tomato holding hands with the Lovino-tomato; this one with a ridiculously huge smile that matched the one currently on Spain's face.

"Anyway, mon ami," France continued, one eye still on his target. England's citizens were so fun to seduce. "Even if you are having trouble with own love life, that doesn't mean you should deny l'amour to cher Denmark."

"I am not having trouble with my love life!" Prussia jumped to his feet at this, glaring down at France with an interesting expression that somehow mixed intense embarrassment and obvious fury. It probably would have reminded Spain of his precious Romano if he'd actually been paying attention to anything besides the napkin-picture, which now contained three little tomatoes holding hands under the two larger tomatoes.

France made a mental note to steal that picture later and mail it to Romano. His reaction would be priceless.

"But you and Mathieu aren't even sharing a room, oui? You moved in with him almost a month ago and you haven't done _anything_." France sighed, as if this was the worst thing that could possibly have happened. "How l'amour changes people. I thought you were the mighty Prussia who used to run around Europe 'seizing vital regions' or whatever you called it."

"I'm still as awesome as I was before!" Prussia shouted this just a bit too loudly, earning an irritated glare from the bartender, who looked as if he quite wanted to just walk over to them and bash one of them over the head with the bottle of rum he was currently holding. "I just—I mean—Mattie wants to take it slow and... I just don't want to overcome him with my awesomeness is all! It's hard to take this much awesomeness in at one time!"

...You knew you'd been spending too much time around America when the first thing that popped into your head at that statement was 'that's what she said'. France immediately shook his head to rid his mind of the incredibly immature thought. He needed to stay away from America for a few months. Or years...

"Prusse, mon cher ami..."

"No! I already said that I'm not helping you!"

France sighed. All right, it was time to bring out his trump card then."What if I could get you something that would make mon cher Mathieu incredibly happy with you? Something that Mathieu would kill to have?"

Prussia hesitated, staring at France with a rather suspicious expression that was entirely unjustified. Had France ever done anything to justify that sort of look?

Don't answer that question.

"What sort of _thing_? If it's some sort of sex toy, I swear that I'll bash your head in with this fucking table."

"Non, mon ami." France grinned as he leaned forward onto the table that he'd just been threatened with. "I have in my possession, two tickets to a hockey game that I know for a fact Mathieu has been dying to go to. Unfortunately, the game was sold out when he tried to get tickets and he's much too good of a nation to use his special privileges to get tickets some other way."

"How'd you get tickets, then?" Prussia questioned, still staring at him suspiciously, although not quite as badly as he had been before.

"I'm not as good a nation as Mathieu is." France glanced back toward the bar, where the bartender and waiter were engaged in a conversation, the bartender pointing toward their table every few seconds.

Really, what horrible service.

"So, you'll give me these tickets for Mattie if I agree to help you?"

Ah, France could already tell that he had him. "It's a fair trade, oui? You get to make cher Mathieu incredibly happy _and _you get to spread l'amour to two dear nations who are in desperate need!"

Prussia still didn't look convinced, but he was definitely thinking about it. And that's all France really needed.

"Although, I suppose that _I _could always take mon petit Mathieu..."

The response was surprisingly immediate. "Fine!" And now Prussia grabbed his mug and gulped most of it down before slamming it against the table. Breaking the handle off in the process. "I'll fucking do it!"

Ah, France loved how easy it was to rile his friend up. "Magnifique! Then we shall start planning immediately, oui?" He glanced at Spain. "Right, Antoine?"

Spain looked up, seemingly startled that he'd suddenly been brought into this conversation. He probably had no idea what they were talking about. "Ah, right about what?"

"It's right that the three of us should spend more time together, oui? Why don't you come over to my house tonight, Antoine, and we'll spend lots of time together in the hot tub?" He scooted closer, taking advantage of Spain's complete confusion and denseness to slide his hands down to the Spaniard's belt and begin to tug the leather free.

Spain blinked once and then laughed before shaking his head. "But I already promised Lovi that I'd make him churros tonight!"

"How unfortunate." France rested his face against Spain's neck, breathing in the scent of his friend. How he enjoyed his dear Antoine and his incredible ability for not noticing things. There needed to be more people like Spain in the world.

"Um...sirs?"

France glanced up to see the waiter standing beside their table, eyeing them with an expression that couldn't decide whether it should be shocked, horrified, or intrigued, so it kept switching between the three.

France grinned back in response, holding out a hand for the wine he'd brought. "Ah, lovely. Merci."

"Is that all you need for now?"

France smirked back, earning a flush in response. How cute. "For now, oui. I'm sure I'll be able to think of something else later, perhaps? Closer to closing time?"

"Ah...yes..." He took a step backwards, his flush darkening, before he hurriedly spun around and moved on to one of the other tables.

France chuckled to himself as he watched him go. And then returned his attention back to his captured Spaniard. Until he noticed that Prussia was still glaring at him.

"I hate you."

France shook his head in response, resting his chin on his free hand as he stared in amusement at his obviously irritated friend. "Non, non, mon ami. Just think of how happy cher Mathieu will be once you hand him those tickets."

"I still hate you. Although I do know someone else who hates you more."

"Qui?"

And then the screech came from the front door, startling most people in the pub so that they all turned toward the infuriated Italian who'd just walked in. "Where the fuck are you, Spagna? You're supposed to be making churr—What the fuck are you doing to Spagna, fucking wine bastard!"

And France sighed as he removed his hands from Spain's pants. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

And Spain, in typical Spain-fashion, just beamed when he saw his precious Romano in the door. "Lovi! Come look at the picture I drew of us!"

* * *

A/N: Yay! Guess what I'm doing tonight? EUROVISION PARTY! With tea! Lots of tea :D I'm excited. *happy dance*

Anyway, soooooo... I would just like to say... THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE FEEDBACK! 40 reviews and I've only written 1 chapter? *jaw drops* Ah. Ah. Yeah, I don't know how else to respond. Except to say that I will try my hardest to make this story worth your attention! *determinedly pounds fist into hand*

Also, I know some of you have already found it, but on my profile is my formspring account. You can go on there and ask any questions you'd like of me ;) I find it quite amusingly fun to answer your questions. (As long as you're nice, no asking mean questions just because it's anonymous; not that I think you would.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Galehus**

**Part 3**

"I can't believe that you're actually _living _with him! This is wrong on so many levels!"

Canada loved his brother. He really did. Even if he was loud and obnoxious and overly obsessed with hamburgers. However, just because you loved someone did not necessarily mean that you didn't occasionally fantasize about beating them over the head with a hockey stick and then lock their unconscious body down in the storage shed for a few weeks.

He did find it rather interesting how things had changed around here since he and Prussia had started dating—or whatever it was that they were doing; he felt like you couldn't really call it _dating_, since they were living together and everything... For one thing, before Prussia had moved in, he'd often go weeks without any contact from the other nations. He'd never get phone calls or emails or anything...

Now, all of a sudden, he was constantly bombarded by messages. Mostly from America. Pretty much entirely from America, actually. Although, he would occasionally get an email or two from Germany, usually stating something along the lines of 'Would you please tell Prussia to return my...(insert item that he'd swiped from Germany's house and put with his own things)? Thank you'.

And there were also the occasional messages from France and England, usually just asking how he was doing, if Prussia was treating him all right, whether they'd 'done it' yet... That last question was exclusively asked by France, by the way...

For another thing, he was also dealing with constant physical guests too. France and Spain would randomly pop up, looking for Prussia. Germany would occasionally show up with Italy, usually in order to go through Prussia's things in search for something that he'd stolen from the house. And, of course, there was always his brother. Who now had a tendency to show up just about every other day.

Usually just to complain about Prussia.

As he was doing right now.

Canada was getting pretty good at ignoring his brother's presence. He'd just scoot around the kitchen, washing dishes, putting the clean plates back in their places in the cupboard. The sorts of everyday tasks that didn't require much thought. And he'd think about things like the hockey game that was showing tonight, wondering if maybe Gilbert would want to watch it with him. Probably depended on if he were drunk or not...since he'd gone out with France and Spain.

The Canadian was paying so little attention to his brother that he didn't even notice that America had actually stopped complaining about Prussia for once. And was instead glaring at Canada's kitchen table. Or, to be more specific, at the little ball of yellow fluff that was currently sitting on the kitchen table.

And was staring right back at him, head tilted to the side slightly.

Canada sighed to himself, as he wiped another plate clean and placed it in the drying rack. He should probably answer America. He was starting to get a little tired of constantly having his brother complain about their new living arrangements. "Alfred, I'm not a kid. I can make my own decisions about who I decide to share a house with..." Not that he'd really made the decision, since Prussia just kind of moved himself in without asking for permission...

America was barely listening to his brother, as he was more interested in the staring contest he'd engaged in with the chick. Neither of them were backing down. Because he was the hero, and the hero would show weakness in the face of the enemy! He would never be defeated by Prussia's evil demon bird!

"Piyo?"

"Prussia is totally not right for you, Mattie!" he finally responded, after processing what his brother had just said. "And I'll prove it!" Right after I show this bird who's boss.

Canada sighed again—he felt like he did that a lot around America—and walked over to the cupboard, pulling down a clean coffee pot. "Alfred, just because you personally don't like Gil doesn't mean that I'm not allowed to like him." He turned, blinking once when he noticed that his brother was apparently engaging in a...staring contest or something with Gilbird. Then decided it was better not to ask. "Why don't you try talking to him or something? I'm sure you two would get along fine if you just tried getting to know each other."

"I don't need to talk to him! I already know that he isn't good enough for you, Mattie!"

"And why not? I don't even understand why you don't like him. He's never done anything to me."

America paused, accidentally breaking eye contact with the little bird, as the thought suddenly struck him. He actually couldn't remember why he disliked Prussia so much. Although there must be a reason. A hero wouldn't just dislike someone for no reason...

And then he glanced back toward the bird... Who was still staring at him, head cocked to the side in a rather curious expression. "Shit! You tricked me, evil demon bird!"

"Piyo Piyo?"

Canada was just going to pretend that America wasn't here right now. It'd be better for his sanity in the long run. Instead, he wordlessly began to set up the coffee pot, knowing that his brother would be whining for some later. Hopefully, he'd leave before Prussia got back home, since he really didn't want to deal with the fireworks that would go off if those two laid eyes on each other.

"Who?"

Canada glanced down at the familiar voice, smiling slightly at the sight of Kumajiro sitting in the doorway, staring at his brother, who had flopped his head onto the table after losing in his contest with the little chick. "Morning, Kumariki. I just filled your bowl."

America turned his head to stare at the polar bear at this statement, finally removing his gaze from the little yellow bird. Who seemed to take the inattention as permission to do what he usually did with Prussia.

He cheeped once and then hopped up to rest on top of America's head.

Canada had heard his brother scream like a girl before. On multiple occasions. Most of them involving ghosts—or what his brother thought were ghosts. Canada had learned a while ago to not try comforting America when it was late at night and he'd just finished watching a marathon of Japan's horror movies, as his habit of disappearing at inopportune times usually just led to America screaming about how there was a ghost in his house. Then, it would take hours for Canada to convince him that he wasn't a ghost, and please, please come out from under the bed?

Anyway, so he'd heard America shriek many _many_ times before. However, he was pretty sure that this scream beat all of those other times put together in terms of pitch, volume, and sheer girliness.

"THE EVIL DEMON BIRD IS ATTACKING ME! HELP MEEE~! MATTIE~~!"

He immediately turned, eyes widening as he saw his brother jump up and start thrashing around in panic. "Alfred! Stop—Stop moving around so much! You're going to hurt him! Just stop moving!"

"HE'S GOING TO EAT MY BRAINS! OR PECK OUT MY EYEBALLS! I KNEW IT! I KNEW BIRDS WERE EVIL! HITCHCOCK WAS RIGHT!"

"Piyo Piyo!"

Canada jumped forward, attempting to grab his brother and stop him from running around. Gilbird was hanging on for dear life, cheeping in panic at the movements of his perch.

And then there was a slam from the front door, heavy footsteps, and "Hey, Mattie! You'll never guess what the awesome me—what the fuck is going on in here?"

Romano's arrival had signalled the end of their drinking outing. Probably for the best... Spain had ended up getting dragged out by a cursing Romano, France had opted to stay (read: stalk that waiter—Prussia really didn't want to know how that ended up), and Prussia had headed to Canada as soon as possible. As, after he'd gotten over the irritation at _knowing_ that he'd walked right into France's trap, he'd started imagining Mattie's reaction when he got home and showed him the tickets...

Mattie would just stare at him in shock for a moment. And then flush an absolutely adorable shade of pink, maybe he'd even start crying out of sheer happiness. And Prussia would of course be awesome and tell him how he'd worked to get those tickets just for him and, since he was such an awesome lover, he wouldn't say no to a make out session on the couch as a way for Mattie to show his gratitude.

And maybe Mattie would finally give up on the totally not-awesome rule that Prussia had to sleep in his own room.

So he'd walked through the front door, incredibly excited to show Mattie the tickets and hopefully start in on a _very_ productive rest of the day...

And had instead ended up walking in on America screeching and flapping around the room like some demented chicken, Canada yelling at him to stop moving while he chased him around, Kumajiro just sitting on the floor, seemingly just watching the show...And Gilbird sitting on top of America's head, cheeping occasionally in distress.

"What the fuck is going on?" he repeated, louder, managing to catch Canada's attention at least. The Canadian paused, giving a sigh of relief, and then pointing toward his brother, who was attempting to tear Gilbird off his head. Thankfully, the little chick was pretty good at dodging and was just moving around and cheeping at the hands coming toward him.

"Can you please get Gilbird off of America, Gil?"

"Yeah, sure..." He took a step forward, motioning for America to stop attempting to grab his bird. Which he finally did, after a few more seconds, "Hey, what're you doing on top of that unawesome guy's head?" he called to the chick.

Gilbird immediately turned toward his master's voice, giving a happy cheep of recognition. America immediately winced, as he felt claws dig into his skull. "Ahh, get it off me!"

Prussia smirked slightly, slowing down and instead chose to saunter over, pausing in front of America for a moment before he reached up and gently lifted the little bundle of fluff into his hands. He stroked him comfortingly, grinning as the bird nuzzled into his warmth. "I've told you before to stay away from the unawesome ones. Only Mattie and I are awesome enough for you to sit on."

Gilbird cheeped once and Prussia grinned, moving to set the chick onto his own head before glancing at America, who was now scowling at him in irritation. "What're you doing here?"

America glanced toward Canada, opening his mouth as if to respond, before catching an incredibly irritated warning-look from his brother. One that plainly read, 'You say anything bad to Gil right now and we'll see about that undefended border'...

So he just shoved his hands into his back pockets and started walking toward the front door. "Nothing. Just wanted to talk to Mattie. But now that we're not _alone _anymore, I'll just be going."

"All right. I need to talk to Mattie _alone _anyway," Prussia responded mockingly, moving across the room and sliding his arm around the other nation's shoulders. Receiving a look of exasperation when he did so.

Still, it was totally worth the glare he received from America. Particularly when it was coupled with the slamming of the front door.

There were few things in the world more fun that getting on another nation's nerves.

* * *

A/N: Hmm hmm... Sorry this took so long. And sorry for the lack of Denmark/Norway interaction. This chapter was supposed to be DenNor-ish, but it was not cooperating. (At all; I tried working on that for like 4 days straight and it wasn't going anywhere). So we're going into subplots instead...

And guess who managed to twist their ankle due to the fact that she's a ridiculous klutz?

Sigh... *shakes head at self* Oh well. At least it was only twisted and not broken or anything...


	4. Chapter 4

**Galehus**

**Part 4**

"Norge! Norge~?"

At the moment, Denmark was rather confused. Never the best state for him to be in, since he had a tendency to act even more impulsive and reckless when he wasn't entirely sure what was going on. Something that way too many people had been on the wrong end of...

Anyway, so Denmark was rather confused. Because Norway should be home right now; he didn't have any sort of important meetings today, he hadn't been planning on visiting any of the other nations... (And Denmark did _not _consider stealing—borrowing someone's organizer and writing down their entire schedule for the next few months to be _stalking_, no matter what the other nations said; it was called being a good friend. Good friends knew where there friend was at all times, after all.)

Besides, even if he _hadn't _borrowed Norway's organizer, he'd still know that the other nation was home, since the light was on in his office. And Norway wasn't the type to leave a light on in his home unless he was using it at that exact moment.

Which could mean one of two things.

One: Norway may not be able to hear him. Even though he'd been ringing the doorbell and pounding on the door and shouting and calling his cell phone for the past twenty-eight minutes. Making this rather unlikely, since at least one of those should have worked. It wasn't like Norway was deaf or anything.

Or two: Something may have happened to Norge. He may have slipped and fallen and knocked his head against his desk. He could be lying unconscious on the floor in his office at this very moment!

Denmark's eyes widened in horror at this thought. Fuck! What was he doing just standing here like an idiot? Norge was in trouble!

And at that thought, he immediately turned around and bent over to pick up the favourite battle axe that he basically carried everywhere he went. After all, that battle axe that had seen him through a lot. Including his old Viking days.

Ah, those had really been the days—raiding England, France, Spain, Estonia... And his trusty axe had been with him through it all.

And now, it was going to see battle once more.

"Don't worry, Norge! I'm coming to save you!"

Norway's front door never stood a chance.

And it was only after he'd chopped through the innocent, defenceless door that he had the sudden thought 'Norge probably isn't gonna be happy about this'.

"Bróðir is not going to be happy about that."

Denmark jumped, startled by the sudden echoing of his thoughts, and then whirled around to see Iceland standing in the doorway to the kitchen, can of Coca-Cola in one hand, puffin resting on the wrist of the other. Expression just as unreadable as always.

"Ah, hey, Ice... You won't tell him that I did that, will you?"

And the younger nation just blinked in response, staring at the splinted mess of wood for a moment, before taking a sip of his soda and turning to walk back to the kitchen. "...Sure..."

Good.

So now on to find Norway!

"Norge! Norge!" He didn't bother to wait for an answer, since if Norway _was _knocked out and lying on the floor, he couldn't answer anyway. So he just barged up the stairs, taking them three at a time, and then ran straight to his office, slamming the door open.

A little too hard, since it fell off the hinges.

Oh well, he could fix that later.

"NORGE! ARE YOU OKAY? ANSWER ME!"

"...You do realize that my front door wasn't even locked?..."

Well, he wasn't lying knocked out on the floor.

In fact, he happened to be sitting in a rather comfortable-appearing chair, staring at Denmark with a blank expression—Denmark vaguely wondered if that expression was genetic; it would explain how both he and Iceland could pull it off so well. Although, if you were good at reading the nation, you would be able to tell rather easily that he was not happy right now. As two of his doors had just been destroyed unnecessarily by his most constant annoyance.

He really should have invested in that electric fence...

He also should have known that there was no way that he was actually going to get to enjoy the only day of relaxation he'd had in months. No meetings with his boss, no need to visit any other nations; he could just spend his day in his office, reading and napping.

But no. Because Denmark somehow managed to always know when he was free... (He was actually starting to get suspicious about that. How in the world _could _he be so aware of his daily schedule? Idiots' luck could only get you so far...)

"So, let's go drinking!" Denmark suddenly exclaimed, throwing is axe onto the ground, somehow managing to angle it so that it actually managed to cut through his carpet.

...

"...You're annoying..."

And now he was suddenly being swatted on the back, hard enough that it actually managed to knock his book right out of his hands and onto the floor, where it landed upside-down. Like a rather poorly-made tent.

"Let's go drinking! You never go out drinking with me. And we—Prussia, England, and me—found this amazing club a while ago, and everybody there absolutely loves me. They even asked me to come back and be the back-up bass for one of their usual bands! So you should come with me!"

"...No..."

"Aww~! Come on, Norge! I'll even pay for the drinks."

Definitely should have invested in the electric fence.

Denmark wasn't going to leave until he said yes; he could tell already...

Then again, once they got outside, he could always call for one of his troll friends to come and deal with this idiot.

That idea was appealing.

"...Fine..."

"YES!" And his back was slammed again, this time almost knocking him right out of his chair. And Denmark threw his fist in the air in some sort of victory dance. "Wait 'til you see this place! Everybody fucking _loves _me there. You should see the chicks fall all over themselves whenever I'm on stage!"

The troll idea just kept sounding more and more appealing. Especially as the Norwegian followed the Danish nation down the stairs and had his first glimpse of what had once been his front door. And now would probably only be useful as firewood. If that...

"...You're buying me a new door..."

"Sure, sure!" Denmark waved the remark aside, probably not even paying attention to what anyone was saying. "It'll be even better than this one!"

"This is the fifth door that you've broken..."

"That's not too bad..."

"This year."

Denmark blinked, glancing down at the still outwardly emotionless nation before chuckling, slightly nervously. "Ha... Really? Well, I'll make sure this one is sturdier!"

And then he turned, heading right outside without even pausing to make sure that he was being followed.

Which he wasn't, as Norway paused in the doorway, glancing around for a moment...

Before turning, fingers itching automatically toward where the doorknob would be if his 'friend' hadn't suddenly decided to completely demolish his entrance. He immediately started heading back toward his office. Before he paused, suddenly noticing a shadow moving around in the kitchen.

And then Iceland suddenly appeared in the doorway, holding a can of Coca-Cola in one hand, his puffin standing at his feet.

Where had he come from? Actually, Norway would prefer not to know...

"...He's gone?"

"...Yes."

Iceland nodded, taking a sip from the can before continuing, voice as deadpan as always. "...The troll?"

"...Yes."

And suddenly there was a loud shout, only slightly muffled by the distance. "Norge! Where'd ya—what the hell—" And then a very loud, very girly shriek of terror.

Norway and Iceland both just stood there. Listening. Until the screams died out.

And then Iceland shook the can, holding it out toward the other nation. "...You're out of Coke."

To which Norway turned and headed back up to his office. Maybe he could get through another chapter of his book before Denmark made his way back to bother him again. Or at least a page or two.

* * *

A/N: *rubs sweat from brow* Well, that took forever.

I'm hoping I did okay with the Nordic characterization; I'm so nervous I'm going to completely screw them up since I know like nothing about Nordic countries and the stuff that I've tried to learn doesn't entirely match up with how they're characterized in Hetalia. So... I'm just kind of trying to smoosh a whole bunch of sources together to create something that'll make me/you happy.

However, with that note, I totally recommend the doujinishi "Anko Uza Unlimited" for anyone who likes DenNor. It's adorable. And if anyone wants the link to the download, I can try to find it, or just look it up yourself, whatever ;D

By the way, does the puffin happen to have a name?

Random Translation:

Bróðir – brother in Icelandic (Do not ask me how to pronounce this. Icelandic is possibly the oddest language I've ever seen... *No offense to anyone Icelandic who might be reading this, but when you name two next door volcanoes Eyjafjallajokull and Katla, you know you've got either a weird language or a really good sense of humour...or both*)


	5. Chapter 5

**Galehus**

**Part 5**

England loved the git. He really did. However, at moments like this, he really _really _wondered why...

"Iggy?" England took a small step backwards at the voice coming from almost directly outside of his hiding place. "Iggy, where did you go? You need to help me, Iggy!"

Yes, he loved the git. But right now he'd rather not be found by him. Which was England barely dared to breathe until he heard the American's heavy footsteps move away. When he was sure that he was finally gone, he gave a sigh of relief and lifted his hand to push the door open so he could slip outside.

And was startled half to death when a hand suddenly reached from behind him and grabbed his wrist, effectively keeping him from opening the door. Then he felt hot breath against his ear and a much _much _too familiar voice murmured softly, "Mm, Angleterre, is there a reason that we are locked in a broom closet together?"

...Oh, God, no... Not France. Out of all of the closets he could have picked in this building, why had he chosen the one that had _France _in it? The universe couldn't hate him _that _much.

...Apparently it did, as he was suddenly spun around and a pair of arms wrapped around his waist in order to keep himself from breaking away. Damn it. It was too dark to even see anything besides the vaguest outline of a figure standing in front of him. Although he didn't have to see to know that France was definitely smirking at him.

And then he felt one of those hands lower and...

"If your hands go any lower, frog, I swear that I will castrate you right here and now." He struggled, but France's grip just tightened, letting him know that he wasn't getting away anytime soon.

Damn it.

There was a moment of hesitation and then the hand _thankfully _moved back to its starting place. Although it would've been better if it removed itself from his person entirely, but this _was _France. "Ah, Angleterre. You should really stop denying that you want it."

"Let go of me, frog. What the hell are you doing in here anyway?" Actually, he probably didn't want to know.

France chuckled in response—yes, he definitely didn't want to know—and then responded after a moment. "I think that we are in here for very similar reasons. You are hiding from your Amérique, oui?"

England hesitated, but then mumbled, "Yes. He wants me to help him with some idiotic plan to break Canada and Prussia up or something like that…"

France nodded. Or, he figured it must have been a nod; it was a little hard to tell when you couldn't see the other person. And that hand was wandering again…

England moved his foot, feeling around for a moment before he finally found France's fashionable, not incredibly sturdy shoe.

And then he stomped down.

It earned him a satisfying yelp. Although the grip around his waist didn't loosen like he'd hoped.

"Now, Angleterre…"

"Let go of me."

"Didn't you want to know why I was in this closet?"

England scowled and attempted to break away again. "Not really." He'd probably been waiting to meet with one of the others. It wouldn't be the first time that this closet would be used for…_those _kinds of meetings between the nations.

"I was hiding from Hongrie."

"...What did you do this time?" England wondered why he kept asking when he knew he wouldn't want to know the answer. Masochism, maybe? "Let me guess, you tried to convince Austria to shag on top of his piano. You know what happened last time you suggested that."

France sighed, removing one of his hands from England's hips in order to take one of the other nation's hands and bring it to his lips. Ignoring England's response of struggles and curses. "Non. Non. Although I am always open to that. But non, this time it has nothing to do with Autriche."

"Then what the bloody hell did you do? And let go of me before I break your bloody foot..."

He felt France immediately move his foot away. And not release his hand, although he did lower it from his mouth. "Sourcils, how can you be so cruel when I am simply trying to express l'amour? As it is, Hongrie and I have a little...ah...agreement. But my plans are going more slowly than I'd expected, so she is a little displeased."

"What the hell did you agree to? ...And I told you not to call me that!"

"Ah, but, Sourcils..." And he reached out to touch the body part in question, earning a growl from the Englishman in response. "It is such a fitting nickname, oui? And I agreed to assist her in spreading l'amour to some of our fellow nations, but...it is coming along more slowly than I had expected..."

"You agreed to do _what_?"

"I didn't really have a choice, Angleterre. Hongrie can be quite convincing when she wishes to be..."

England snorted. That was one way of putting it... "So you're hiding from Hungary—in a broom closet—because you're scared that she's going to kill you for not holding up your end of the deal?"

"Do not worry, Angleterre. I shall soon be successful." England could hear the smirk in his voice now. "I'm actually quite happy that we stumbled upon each other. I wanted to ask you something."

"I'm not helping you with anything."

"Ah, but Angleterre. All I want is for you to agree with me on something."

"Hell no."

France sighed and then leaned forward. "Look, Angleterre. This is going to help bring Danemark and Norvège together. You're friends with Danemark, right? You want to see him happy?"

England scowled. "I don't want to get involved in anything that involves you..."

...This was not going as well as France had hoped, which meant that he was now going to have to fight a little less gentlemanly. "Fine, Angleterre. I suppose that I am just going to have to tell Hongrie that you have completely destroyed any chance of getting our friends together. She will be _so _upset..."

England immediately tensed. Oh no. He was not... "You wouldn't..."

"Wouldn't I?"

...Making all of his hair fall out was too good for the bastard. Maybe he'd use one of his spells to actually turn France into a _real _frog. That would be enjoyable. "Fine... Fine. I'll agree with whatever you want... As long as it isn't something perverted."

"Ah, it won't." And now he sounded absolutely thrilled. Bloody wanker. "We should get going, though. As much as I'd love to spend all day in here with you, we really should make our way to join the others at the meeting."

And then, one of his hands quickly darted down for a quick grope that earned a squeak of surprise from the other nation and a kick in the shins.

"Fucking—!" And suddenly England felt the support against his back, which he'd been leaning on for most of the conversation, was suddenly gone. And he was falling backwards...

And he hit something. Hard. And very painful. Very very painful. Particularly as his head hit first.

And then something else—not quite as hard, but quite heavy—landed right on top of him, not helping anything.

"Ow...mon dieu..."

"Iggy! I found...Wait...why were you in the closet with France?"

...Great. Just when his day couldn't get any better. England lifted his head, rubbing at where he'd smashed it against the floor, to see America staring down at them.

Looking very _very _unhappy.

...Yes, he was going to turn France into a frog. And then he was going to make that frog leg dish that the nation was so fond of.

* * *

A/N: Aiyah, this chapter was like pulling teeth to write... Especially since I wrote it all out, then decided I didn't like it and rewrote it, then my computer crashed and ate it so I had to rewrite it AGAIN. Gah! Stupid stupid stupid. The only way I could get through it was through the amazingness of tea and your lovely lovely reviews.

Anyway, but it is now done, and we have fanart to show you! As usual, you can find the link on my profile. Go show LOVE LOVE!


	6. Chapter 6

**Galehus**

**Part 6**

He was being kicked under the table.

England was about ready to murder someone; the only question was who he should go after first. The American that was currently bruising his shins—it didn't matter how he moved them, Alfred still managed to keep finding and kicking at the most tender spots on his legs—or the French pervert who was the reason that he was being brutally attacked.

He was currently considering just taking them both out in one go.

After another moment of putting up with the rather agonizing pain of having the same spot kicked over and over and over again by an aggravated American—who hadn't even given him a chance to explain that it wasn't his fault he'd been stuck in a closet with France—he shifted in his seat in an attempt to move them out of range. And immediately received an incredibly dirty look from Germany, who he was currently seated next to.

England wanted to snort in irritation at that; let's see how you like being kicked over and over again for something that wasn't even your fault. Instead, he sent a dirty look toward America, who didn't even have the decency to look affronted. No, he just kicked harder.

"Thank you, Canada…" Germany suddenly remarked, startling England, as he hadn't even noticed that Canada had been talking. Damn American and his probably steel-tipped boots. "Does anyone else have anything they'd like to bring up before we close our meeting?"

And everybody immediately started packing up at this, because nobody ever brought something up at the end of a meeting. Since everybody wanted to get out of here and away from everybody else as soon as possible.

"Excusez-moi, but I have something to say…"

And every single eye in the room (except for Greece's, since he was asleep) turned in almost perfect unison to stare in shock as France suddenly stood up and flashed everyone a bright smile.

Even Germany looked confused beyond belief. "You…have something to talk about, Frankreich?"

"Oui."

"…You do realize that the meeting is about to adjourn?"

"It won't take very long."

Germany looked as if he thought that he'd just stepped into one of America's Twilight Zone episodes. Pretty soon Romano would start hugging him and calling him his best friend, America would request a spot of tea, Italy would give up pasta, and France would declare celibacy…

Germany was thoroughly convinced that this was exactly how the world was going to end someday.

"Um…All right." And at this, everyone set their things back on their tables, most grumbling to themselves as they watched France stand and turn to face the majority of the other nations.

"Bonjour, mes amis, I will make this as quick as possible. Mon patron and I were planning yesterday for the meeting that was scheduled to take place in my house next month. Unfortunately, we in the process we discovered that the building where we usual hold our meetings has been scheduled to be renovated during this time and there is no other place that would be sufficient space-wise that has not already been booked."

Germany frowned, still looking confused. "That is…inconvenient, but I don't see why it had to be brought up at this meeting. We'll just reschedule the meeting or have someone else host it."

"Non. Non. We do not need to do that. Mon patron and I came up with a better plan." He paused, enjoying the expectant stares that he received from all of the other nations. And the evil glare of impending pain that he received from England. "We have decided that, instead of rescheduling or changing the venue of our meeting, we will instead rent out a cruise ship and have our meeting there! It will be like a vacation and meeting in one!"

The response was immediate—and pretty much followed the expected path of any conversation between the nations after an announcement like that…

"Kesesese! That sounds awesome! Almost as awesome as me! Right, Mattie?"

"Doesn't that sound like fun, Lovi~? We'll be able to spend lots of time together on a cruise…"

"As if I'd want to be stuck on a boat with _you_, bastard."

"Ve~ Will there be pasta on the boat?"

"Cruises originated in me, da ze~!"

Germany could already feel the meeting descending into chaos—and not the normal kind of chaos that he could quiet by just yelling in his stern commander voice. "Frankreich, I do not think that a cruise would be the best idea. What about our work?"

"Mon patron has already spoken to everyone's bosses and they have given their consent… They think it will help with 'diplomatic relations' between our nations." France was especially proud of that one. You could use the 'it will help diplomatic relations' excuse to get away with a lot of different things. In this case, he'd used it to get his boss to agree to sending the nations on a cruise instead of having the normal meeting in their perfectly functional conference building…

And now Germany was sweating, as he glanced around the room to see that most of the other nations seemed rather excited about the idea. Why couldn't they see that this was only asking for trouble? Sticking all of them together—on a boat—for a long period of time? Somebody would end up being thrown overboard within the first day. Actually, within the first hour.

He needed someone reasonable, who would be able to see just what a horrible idea this was and who would stand up against France…

He immediately turned in his seat, eyes resting on England, who was currently scowling as he crossed his arms over his chest and shifted again in his chair, as he'd been doing—rather distractedly—throughout the entire meeting.

If _anyone _could oppose France's plan successfully, it was England. Germany was actually a little surprised that he hadn't said anything yet about what a 'daft' idea it was. "Ah, England, what do you think about this idea?" Of course he'd oppose it, he'd oppose it—just because France had proposed it—and they could start debating and come up with a better idea that didn't have as much potential for disaster.

England, however, was remembering something that he'd said to France in that closet…

A tiny little promise that he'd made… That he'd agree to anything the bloody frog said, as long as it wasn't perverted…

Damn that bloody frog to hell.

"England?"

He groaned, shifting again. Although, thankfully America had stopped kicking him, probably wanting to hear what he was about to say… Ugh, this wasn't going to help anything. "I—" And, just to make things better, the room suddenly quieted, every eye turning to look at him as he spoke… England wanted to just sink into his chair and die…after maiming America, of course. Both of his legs were going to be black and blue tomorrow. "I—I agree with—with Fra—Fran—bloody hell—"

He took a deep breath. The words actually tasted disgusting in his mouth. Just get it over with, England… "Fuck, I agree with France's idea." And he immediately sunk down in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, flashing everyone a look that plainly read that he didn't want to say anything more.

And every single nation simultaneously jaw-dropped. Particularly America, who had even stopped kicking the other nation out of sheer shock…

England.

Had just agreed.

With France.

And Germany immediately scratched out every thought he'd had earlier. _This_ was the true sign of the Apocalypse.

* * *

A/N: The end of the world is upon us. Everyone RUUUN!

Hey, we get a cruise ship adventure out of it, though ;D

As a note, I personally have never been on a cruise, but one of my best friends just got back from one to Bermuda. And (as she and I are Hetalia buddies), we immediately went to the mall and had a like 2 hour conversation about the nation-tans on a cruise… So, this plotline is her fault xD (Even though she has no idea that I'm doing this plot now, Mwahaha… xD)

In other news, I have realized that I hate typing stories on computers that aren't mine, blah. The formatting was all messed up and I'm hoping I caught it all... If I missed something, that's why. Sigh sigh. I had to for this chapter because I'm currently dog-sitting for my aunt and she didn't give me the password for their Wi-Fi before they left… Hopefully they'll answer their phone sometime so I can get it and use my laptop…

But, whatevz. I currently have a whole house all to myself for 3 days, which is pretty awesome. And means that I have lots and lots of time to write and watch movies and play computer games and go roller-blading once I find a place to roller-blade near here. ;D


	7. Chapter 7

**Galehus**

**Part 7**

"Are you _trying_ to get yourself murdered by Al?"

France glanced over his shoulder at the rather sudden remark. He'd been in the middle of explaining how the maid's rotation worked—he pouted, apparently no one had actually been listening to him. No, because Prussia was currently standing in the middle of the empty hallway, staring down at a sheet of paper as if _it _were more important than what France was saying.

France sighed, but gave in. "What do you mean, mon ami?" he questioned, glancing forward toward where Spain was opening every single room and squealing over the cabins' interiors. Another one who wasn't paying any attention to him. Without even a good reason, since every single room looked exactly the same...

He was currently—out of the goodness of his heart—giving his two best friends the grand tour of the cruise ship before the other nations arrived. They'd already gone to the bar, the fancy restaurant where they'd eat all of their meals, the pool, the gym, and various other places, so now he was showing them where they'd be sleeping.

"You put _yourself _in the same room with England," Prussia continued, shaking his head as he stared at the other nation. "America is _already _this close to murdering you in your sleep. You want to make him even angrier?"

France smirked and shrugged, ignoring another squeal of 'Look at the cute little dolphin decorations on the beds! I'll have to show Lovi when he comes!' in the process. "Ah, but don't you think Amérique will enjoy having a room all to himself?"

Prussia just snorted and dropped the paper to his side. "You know, Franny, suicide is not the answer..."

"Tomates!" And suddenly they were startled by a sudden shriek of joy before Spain darted into one of the rooms.

And they just gaped.

Until France smirked. "Well, it looks like Antoine found his room."

"That means that this one is yours, right?" Prussia lifted the paper again and stared down at it. The sheet held a map that showed where all of the nations would be rooming; France had made a copy for each of the other nations, even taking the time to get a few copies laminated for those nations who were a little more likely to spill something on them than the others (Italy).

Prussia was currently twisting it around, apparently attempting and failing to orient himself. France just watched for a moment, rather amused by his frustrated actions, then he finally walked over and took it out of his hands, turning it to the proper position.

"I knew that," Prussia immediately remarked.

"Of course, mon ami."

"Okay." Prussia paused for a moment, eyeing the box that was labelled with _Espagne_ and _Italie du Sud_. Then he pointed toward the box next door, this one labelled with _Prusse _and _Canada_. "So me and Mattie are next door!"

"Oui. And right across the hall" He motioned toward the box on the map and then pointed toward the actual door "is where I will be staying with Angleterre..."

"If Al doesn't kill you first."

France chose to ignore that remark. "Here is Amérique, at the end of the hallway." He poked the box again and then motioned toward a door about four doors down. "And here" Now he pointed toward a box two down from Spain and Romano's room "Is where our new—ah, recipients of l'amour—will be sleeping."

Prussia immediately wrinkled his nose in distaste at the remark. "I still think this is a stupid idea, but as long as this gets back so Mattie and I can go to that game..."

"No need to worry, mon ami. We are arriving a full three days before your date."

"You'd better hope we do, because if I miss out on this—"

And he was suddenly interrupted by a voice coming from the loudspeaker above their heads that he hadn't even noticed existed until now. But he hadn't jumped. Of course not. He was too awesome to be startled by something like that. "Monsieur Bonnefoy, the other passengers have arrived."

France immediately smiled and nodded, looking pleased with himself. Then he turned and shouted toward the room where Spain had disappeared, "Antoine, time to go up and meet with everyone else. You'll want to see your Lovino, oui?"

Spain appeared in another moment, holding a half-eaten tomato in one hand and a whole one in the other. He beamed at them, as usual, taking a bite from the already half-gone tomato. Dripping juice on the carpet in the process. Prussia smirked, imagining how Germany would react when he saw _that_, (because he would see it, the guy was absolutely ridiculous like that when it came to finding messes to clean). "Sí!" Spain responded. "Are you the one who put tomates in our room?"

"Of course, mon ami. I knew that you would want them. And I always try to please mes amis..." France stepped forward, grinning at his friend as he snaked an arm around his waist.

"Unless they're Al and Artie... Ow!" Prussia yelped as an elbow hit him hard in the stomach as France and Spain passed. France's arm had already slipped down from its spot at his waist...

Prussia hurried to catch up with them, choosing to throw an arm around Spain's shoulders on the opposite side of France. "So, what's the plan to get those two idiots together, since you fucking brought us on a _boat_ and everything? Which is pretty awesome, I will admit. At least if the beer is any good..."

"Ah, mes amis. It will be simple!" France responded. "Think of how many chances we shall have to show them the true magic of l'amour! Dancing, wining, dining, afternoons spent out under the sun by the pool..."

"And if it doesn't work, we get murdered by the frying pan-wielding devil-woman."

"It will work, mon ami! Do not worry!" France assured him. "Everything will go according to plan. It will be perfect."

Prussia didn't answer. Instead, he just walked beside them as they made their way to the deck, where they could now look down to gaze at where most of the other nations were standing on the pier. Most of them staring up at them with a variety of expressions.

Italy was clinging to Germany's arm, bouncing up and down as he squealed 'Ve~! Look how big the boat is, Doitsu! It's like a casa!' Romano was glaring at them.

Which Spain either didn't notice or didn't care about, as he immediately broke away from France and ran down the gangway, tackling the Italian in a rather painful-looking hug that he didn't have even the slightest margin of a chance to dodge. "Look, Lovi! Tomates! There's a whole basket in our room!"

"Why do I have to be rooming with _you_, bastard?" Romano exclaimed, attempting to escape from Spain's iron grip. "Chigi! Let go of me!"

Prussia ignored them after a moment of watching, instead starting to search the crowd for a moment... Ah, there he was! The Prussian beamed and waved toward the blond, who was standing apart from most of the others. And was happy to receive an immediate smile and small wave in response. He caught a glare from America, though, who also was standing apart from the others. Standing apart from the others and glaring up toward where France was standing.

"Bienvenue!" France immediately shouted down, flashing everyone a bright—overly bright—grin, as if he were trying to blind everyone by force of his smile alone. Prussia found it rather creepy. "Everyone come aboard! We'll be setting off in another couple of hours!"

And Prussia suddenly had the thought that maybe it'd just be easier to abandon ship right now. There was no way that this could end up well. No possible way...

* * *

A/N: Oh, France. No one thinks that this is going to work except you. Even _Prussia _is thinking this is a bad idea. But will you listen? Of course not! That'd be too easy!

Okay, insert standard apology for being slow to update. Gah, I'm always bad about writing during the summer (weirdly enough I'm a million times more productive when I'm really busy...probably because I just get sleepy and lazy when I'm bored). So yeah... Sorry.

In happier news, I just posted a new poll earlier today for those of you who are reading "Just a Little Push" about who you'd like to see a POV chapter from later in the story. So go vote if you read that story :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Galehus**

**Part 8**

"Norge~! Let me in! This is my room too!"

Norway felt like he should commend France on the quality of his ship's doors. His was holding up quite well, much better than the ones that he had at home.

Although then again, he was pretty sure that France was the one who had decided who they would be rooming with; he and Arthur were together, of course he was the one who'd decided who they were rooming with. So something like a visit by an angry troll might be more appropriate than a commendation... Unfortunately, that would have to wait until they made it to land, since trolls didn't really like the ocean.

"There's coke in the fridge..."

And Norway was interrupted from his internal musing over the quality of doors by the sudden remark from his brother, who was currently standing in front of the mini-fridge, door held open as he looked through the contents. He vaguely wondered why Iceland was even there, but then decided that he didn't care enough to ask. "You can have it."

The other nation nodded once, reaching inside the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of coca-cola before walking over to the bed unoccupied by Norway's suitcase. He flopped down as he popped off the cap, displacing his puffin in the process. His puffin, who had been right in the middle of a rather pleasant dream involving himself and a rather cute female puffin.

Needless to say, he wasn't incredibly happy to be woken so suddenly. And responded by fluttering away, making a sound of irritation before settling on the nearby dresser.

"Norge~!" The door shuddered under the newest blow, but managed to somehow keep from splintering. Norway wondered if he could possibly get in contact with whoever had made these doors; the quality was quite amazing. Although he'd have to talk with them about making them axe-resistant as well.

"He isn't going to leave."

Norway nodded in response to Iceland's statement, calmly walking over to his suitcase and pulling out the last stack of shirts, which he then set inside his dresser. Maybe he could talk to France about switching rooms with someone; although he'd have to find him quickly if he wanted to catch him before he was thrown overboard by America.

"Norge!"

He glanced around the room one last time; the last time that he would see it before it was infected by idiocy...

And then he walked over to the door and opened it.

Thankfully thinking far enough ahead to open the door so that he was safely out of the way. Somehow guessing that a Danish man would burst into the room at top speed and slam right into his bed, groaning in pain as he fell straight to the floor.

As Denmark, in his almighty wisdom, had decided that since pounding on the door wasn't getting him anywhere, he would instead try ramming into it with his shoulder. And in order to do so, he needed to walk to the other side of the hall and get a running start...

"Ow..."

Which had not ended as well as he had hoped.

Norway's reaction wasn't what Denmark had hoped for either, as he'd hoped that he'd get at least a little sympathy. Maybe an 'Are you okay, Danmark?' or 'Oh, Danmark, that must have hurt, let me take care of that for you.' Instead, he got a blank stare from both Norway and Iceland.

And then Norway blinked once and turned toward the still open door. "I'm going to go talk to France."

Denmark hurriedly jumped to his feet. "I'll come with you!"

The other nation didn't even bother to respond, just walked out of the door as Denmark followed like a hyperactive puppy.

And proceeded to duck as a vase flew through the air and almost smashed right into his face.

A vase which Denmark unfortunately did not see in time...

"OW!"

Norway glanced back long enough to see that the blow had been enough to knock the Dane unconscious—England had a pretty powerful throw—and then turned to look out upon the battlefield that had once been the ship's hallway. He had a hard head, he'd be fine. And he had other things to worry about, like the fact that it looked like he wouldn't be getting to France in time... Which meant he was probably going to be stuck with the idiot for the rest of this trip.

"THERE IS NO WAY I AM SHARING A ROOM WITH YOU, YOU BLOODY FROG!"

"Yeah! What he said!"

"Now, mon Angleterre! I already told you that it was already decided! And I can't change—" France yelped and ducked behind the doorway to Spain's room as another vase came flying toward his face. "Angleterre!"

"That wasn't me; that was America."

Norway just watched the proceedings with a slight amount of interest, along with pretty much every other nation staying in a room in this hallway. And others would probably be coming soon enough, as news of fights like these could travel faster than the speed of light.

"Get away from our room!" And suddenly Romano was standing in the doorway of the room that France was currently sitting halfway inside, using the door itself as a shield. A door which shook as another vase smashed against it. It was holding up, though; these doors really were works of craftsmanship...

"Amérique, Angleterre, let's be reasonab—OW!"

And now France was groaning as he rubbed at the back of his head, where he'd just been hit by a tomato thrown from rather close range at a very high velocity.

"I said to get out of my room!"

"Lovi~ that wasn't very nice!"

And now Spain moved into sight, hugging Romano from behind and sending him into a screaming fit of curses, threats, and insults. So, the usual...

Except that Romano somehow, in the process of threatening Spain's vital regions in a way that made most other males in the vicinity wince in sympathy, also managed to catch his fingers on the door and tug it towards himself...

Which happened to leave France completely exposed to the two nations who were currently standing in the doorway to England's room, each holding a metal lamp... And France hadn't noticed, as he was too busy grumbling to himself and wiping tomato juice out of his hair.

"Norge~?"

Looked like the idiot was waking up. Norway glanced down, to where Denmark was now sitting up and rubbing at his head as he turned to stare out into the hallway. "What the hell hit me—what's going—" And then his eyes widened in shock, as a rather loud metallic clang echoed through the hallway.

Along with a chorus of "Oooh's" coming from the other nations.

And then there were a few moments of uncomfortable silence, before it was broken by Prussia's overly-loud voice. "Well... I think you just killed Francis. And we haven't even left the dock."

Which made Norway wonder if maybe he'd have time to make it off the ship before they set sail. He could always replace his belongings; it'd be rather harder to replace his sanity.

* * *

A/N: Poor Francis. But finally the Nordics sort of get more screen time!

And I got a couple comments about France calling America by 'America', even though technically in French he should be called by 'The United States'. I'm keeping it the way it is, mainly just so everyone's calling each other by the same country name. Instead of some using America, some using United States. It makes it a lot easier on me and my not-so-amazing memory to do it that way. xD

And sorry for the late update... Real life is kind of kicking my butt right now xP First I was having computer problems, then I (finally) get a job—which is good, except for the fact that it's night shift, which is pretty much the only time I usually can concentrate enough to write—and now I'm using the days I'm not working to pack for college. Updates will hopefully not be as bad, since we're hopefully not going to have to deal with computer issues again *knock on wood* but a bit slower than I'd like...

Don't worry, though. I shall never ever ever abandon any of my stories!... Unless I become amnesiac and/or die, I suppose... Which we'll hope doesn't happen.


End file.
